


Gatekeeper

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [42]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, LIVE YOUR BDE FANTASIES MY BBIES, Multi, Political stuff, also you kick Magneto's ass, but it is ANGSTY, i'm hella excited for this one, mentions of abuse, mentions of medication stuff, more of a confrontation than a fight really, so there's that, the plot in this one is SO GOOD, you and piotr get into a bit of a fight, you the reader have the BIGGEST DICK ENERGY IN THE ROOM FOR THIS ONE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You decide you want to rejoin the X-Men after an ill-fated mission in Hell’s Kitchen. Piotr, unbeknownst to you, disagrees with the choice and tries to sideline you to keep you safe. You manage to work around him to make it back on the active mission roster –but will your relationship with Piotr survive?(Set after 'Decisions, Decisions' and 'Meeting the Rasputins.')[All warnings in the tags.]





	Gatekeeper

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO. QUICK NOTE ABOUT MAGNETO.
> 
> I did take some... liberties with his goals. Namely that he's not gunning for wiping out all non-mutants (in some of the comics he's hellbent on doing that). It just didn't sit right with me to have a Jewish character that survived the Holocaust be gunning so hard for genocide. Yeah.
> 
> If you don't like it, that's fine, this fic probably won't be for you though.
> 
> Also, I know that Magneto is, like, old as BALLS now if we're having him survive World War II and the Holocaust, but honesty? I don't care. He's like sixty, maybe seventy in my head. I know that doesn't work, and I just... don't care. It's how it is. It's 2AM; this is not the time to give fucks about timeline details when I have never made a timeline in my life ever, lol.
> 
> So yeah. That's all.
> 
> Continue.

Your legs are shaking. You’re feel like you’ve run a marathon. You’re covered in sweat.

You couldn’t be happier.

You pant and gasp for a minute, hands braced against your knees as you catch your breath, and then you straighten and let out a victorious whoop as you pump your fists in the air. “Fuck yeah! Kiss my ass, physical therapy! I’m finally done with you!”

After two months of recovering from getting shot at some God forsaken Hell’s Kitchen dock, you were finally done with physical therapy.

Which meant that you could finally get back to working with the X-Men.

From the patio behind the house, Piotr clapped his hands as you collapsed – _triumphantly_ —onto the lawn. “Well done,  _moya lyubov’_. You should be very proud.”

“Believe me, I am. And I’m gross and sweaty. Who wants a hug?”

He laughs and hugs you anyway, the good sport. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And super happy! It’ll be good to get back in the swing of things.”

He stays quiet for just a beat too long, and you might’ve called him on it if you hadn’t been so focused on breathing properly. “You have decided to rejoin X-Men? Actively?”

You shrug. “I miss working with everyone. I miss helping people. I miss  _doing_  things.”

He chuckles at that. “Very understandable,  _dorogoy_. For now, how about we get you showered and fed.”

“I can be amenable to that.” You grin up at him. “But only if you join me in the shower.”

He smirks back down at you. “I can be convinced.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes you a while to stop hemming and hawing over whether or not to run missions with the rest of the X-Men. You know you’re good at it, that your skills are immensely useful, but you don’t want a repeat of the Hell’s Kitchen incident; you don’t want to put your friends in danger.

And then Mikhail hits you in the head with an energy pulse, and you get a proper diagnosis, and you finally land on a choice.

You want to be an X-Man. Woman. Person.

Whatever.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is it weird that I miss doing missions?” You’re hanging out with Piotr in his art studio, watching him work on a painting of a vase of flowers. “Like, you’ve done them longer than I have. Do you think it’s weird?”

He smiles gently as he carefully paints delicate petals on the flowers. “ _Nyet_. Not so much. You like to be active. To help others. To me, sense is made.”

You can’t help but grin at the mild mis-phrasing; you press on. “I want to get back into it. Now that I know it can all be managed, I want to get back into things. Like, soon. I miss the action.”

“Understandable,” Piotr says after a beat of silence. “But… perhaps it is better to wait.”

“Wait?” You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You… have never been on medication before. Perhaps… perhaps it would be best to make sure you find medicine that works before re-entering field work.”

And that… makes sense. A lot of sense, actually.

“Yeah,” you agree as you flop down in the over-stuffed armchair Piotr keeps in his studio. “Probably best not to be newly fucking with my brain chemical when I start doing missions again.”

Piotr smiles, but given your new position you can’t see that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “ _Da_. Very wise thinking,  _myshka_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting out of missions while getting your meds worked out turns out to be a good idea. Given your “latent healing factor,” certain medications don’t work for you. Add to that the list of medication that are not compatible with mutants, and, well—

You wind up in a tough spot, to say the least.

Piotr stays by your side for all of it, true to form. He holds you in his arms while you deal with the ups and downs of weaning on and off of different doses, keeps your hair out of your face when one of the prescriptions you try winds up making you nauseous as all get out, and rubs your back when the medications invariably fuck up your sleep cycle and make it hard to wind down.

He’s a gem. Your gem, to be specific.

 

* * *

 

 

Fortunately, the medication journey is much shorter lived than the diagnosis journey. Within six months, you’re on a dose that works with you and the telepathic therapy you’re also doing.

“You know, I was worried that the meds would be like the repression serum for me,” you comment one early spring night as you and Piotr get ready for bed.

He pauses changing into pajamas to kiss the top of your head. “How so?”

“I don’t know, I just thought… I thought I’d be afraid to be anywhere without it. That I wouldn’t be able to go do anything without dosing myself, just to be safe. But it’s not like that at all. It’s not about my mutation, it’s about  _me_. About my  _brain_. And it’s not to keep me controlled, it’s to help me feel  _better_. And I like that.”

Piotr smiles and kisses the bridge of your nose. “I am so glad,  _dorogoy_. You deserve to feel better.”

“Well, I certainly think so.” You grin up at him as he finishes changing. “And, now that I’ve got my medication worked out, I can get back to being an X-Man. Woman. Person. Thing.”

You expect Piotr to smile along with you, so it’s surprising to see a flash of a frown cross his face before he turns away and fidgets with his phone real quick. “You are… you are sure you wish to rejoin?”

“Well, yeah,” you say with a frown of your own. “I mean… do you not want me to?”

“ _Nyet_ ,  _nyet_.  _Konechno, net_. I simply figured…”

“Figured what, Piotr?”

“That you would want to get back into fighting condition, first,” he finishes lamely as he finally –finally—plugs his phone into his charger.

And, not for the first time since you’ve mentioned that you want to rejoin the X-Men, you’ve got a sneaking feeling that he’s trying to stall you. To protect you, in his own –misguided,  _controlling_ —way.

He’s right, though. Six months of ups and downs with medication, your diet, and your sleep cycle have left you no where near the condition you need to be in to do right by whichever team you wind up working with.

“Fair enough,” you concede with a yawn. You flop down on the bed and wiggle your way under the covers. “Turn the light off; I’m beat.”

 

* * *

 

 

You work yourself. Hard. You spend at least an hour in the gym every day, save for one full day of rest. You alternate which muscle groups you work each day, making sure that you give each set of muscles time to recoup before you work them again.

Fortunately, the ‘teacher assisting’ and grading work you’ve been doing for nearly your entire stay at Xavier’s is flexible. More often than not, you’ve got it with you in some facsimile while you exercise so that you can stay on top of everything.

The amount of working out you do does keep you away from missions –and, unfortunately, Piotr as well—but it does give you time to think.

Specifically, about your darling boyfriend and love of your life.

It’s not hard to tell that Piotr’s sidelining you. He isn’t cutting you down or making you question your abilities; in fact, every step of progress you make he’s praising you, encouraging you.

But, the fact remains: he’s sidelining you. Deliberately bringing up obstacles to keep you from running missions. Granted, he hasn’t brought up anything invalid or stupid, but you know your boyfriend. You know when he’s trying to protect you via controlling you. It’s not the first time you’ve been on the receiving end of this treatment, and it probably won’t be the last. Piotr copes with his stress by micromanaging. It’s a simple fact.

The fact that he won’t talk to you about whatever’s stressing him out, however, is bugging you. Big time.

 _I thought we were a team_ , you think as you put yourself through your paces on a treadmill one sunny –if chilly—early spring morning.  _But we can’t be a team if he won’t talk to me_.

 

* * *

 

 

“He’s pushing me out,” you admit to Neena over a cup of coffee. The two of you had gone out so you could talk uninterrupted –a near impossible feat when school was in session—and so that you didn’t have to risk Piotr overhearing while you were trying to figure yourself out. “I just wish he’d tell me what’s bugging him.”

Neena raises an eyebrow at that. “You don’t mind him micromanaging things?”

You shake your head. “I’ve known for a while that it’s how he copes with stress. Honestly, given how discombobulated my head is at any given moment, I kinda depend on it. I just wish he’d talk to me when he’s worrying about something.” You frown into your mug. “Am I asking for two different things from him? Like, if I’m willing to let him have his bad habits –because I have mine too, and I’m not gonna expect him to be perfect if I’m not—is it even right to want him to just talk to me?”

Neena shakes her head after a moment. “I don’t think so. It’s one thing if he just micromanages how the fridge is arranged or how stuff gets put away, but it’s another thing when he’s micromanaging you. That’s an indicator of bigger stress, and he  _should_  talk to you about that.”

“Which is what I figured,” you agree. “He doesn’t have the right to sideline me just because I’m scared. I need to be able to make my own decisions without him interfering. If he has concerns, he should just talk to me about them!”

“Exactly. And if you disagree, that’s your prerogative.”

“Right.” You sigh and slump back in your seat. “I just… I’m tired of always having to fish stuff out of him. I want him to come to me. But I don’t want to be passive aggressive either…”

“If you don’t confront him, are you going to not do it to specifically try to punish him?” Neena asks, pointing her half-eaten biscotti at you. “Are you going to cold shoulder him?”

You shake your head. “No. I think he might just need to run the course on this one, you know?”

“Well, in that case, don’t confront him yet. Keep doing you, and start taking steps to handle things on your own. Get your shit in order and get back onto active duty without him. The fastest way he’s going to learn that he can’t micromanage you is if you sidestep him completely. You’re an adult; you can make your own decisions and call your own shots.”

You nod slowly as you mull the idea over. “Yeah. That might be the best way to do this.”

It doesn’t take too long for you to get yourself back into fighting shape. By the time the school year’s almost out, you’re back in mission condition.

You’ve also taken the luxury of participating in the group sparring the X-Men do to keep their skills sharp, having anticipated Piotr would pick that as the next “reason” for you to not rejoin the mission roster. As far the group you’ve been working with is concerned, you’re ready to start missions again whenever you feel like it.

Which takes you straight to Xavier’s office.  _When in doubt, talk to the man in charge_.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting things straightened out with the Professor takes virtually no time at all. With your exercise, training, and therapy records, you’ve got all the –virtual—paper trail you need to warrant him switching your status from ‘inactive’ to ‘active.’

You thank the Professor as you exit his office—

And nearly collide nose-first with Piotr’s steel chest.

“ _Moya lyubov’_?” He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting put back on the active duty roster for missions,” you say simply, as though it’s simple.

Which, technically, it is.

Piotr opens his mouth to see something, notices the Professor watching –the two of you  _are_  in his office, it’s not like he’s being a snoop—before ushering you into the hallway and closing the door. He escorts you a few feet away from the door –ever the gentleman—so the two of you can talk in relative privacy. “ _Myshka_ … are you sure this is good idea?”

“Alyssa thinks I’m ready, as does the team I’ve been training with to make sure I was on par against opponents,” you say. “And Xavier thought my records were sufficient justification to put me back on the list.”

Sad as the context of the situation is –and the stress and fear your know Piotr’s dealing with—it is a little satisfying to watch him flounder of the face of ‘you actually sorted your shit out and I wasn’t betting on that.’

Before he can say anything, though, Jean comes sprinting down the hall. “Y/N! Cable just called for backup! He and Wade accidentally stumbled into one of Magneto’s hideouts! We need to move out to help them!”

Your boyfriend stiffens. “Where—”

“You can’t come, Colossus,” Jean says quickly. “Magneto’s on site. Non-metal powers only.”

“I have to go.” You pop up to kiss your boyfriend’s cheek. “We’ll talk when I get back.” You sprint down the hall, keeping stride with Jean.

“Suit up and head out as fast as you can,” Jean says as she runs towards the hangar bay the jets are kept in. “We’ll be following you. I’ll send the coordinates to your phone.”

 

* * *

 

 

The site is an abandoned warehouse set on an equally abandoned, broken down industrial dock. Twisted piles of metal rebar lie everywhere –no wonder Magneto picked this spot to work out of—and various weeds are sprouting up from cracks in the concrete.

It’s also easy enough to track down Wade and Nate. You just follow the sounds of Wade’s pissed off screaming and the general sounds of rampant destruction until you practically walk into the fight scene.

Magneto and a few –much fewer than you expected, Wade and Nate must have caught him off guard as opposed to walking into a trap—of his men are facing down Wade and Nate.

Well, it’s not much of a face down since Magneto’s got a hold of all of Wade and Nate’s weapons, the weapons being metal and whatnot.

“Give me my guns back, you crotchety, geriatric fuck!” Wade screams as he pops his head over a concrete highway divider.

You land in the middle of the fracas, sending a gust of wind at Magneto and his henchman that knocks them all off their feet. “What’s good, dudes?”

“Oh, kickass entrance with casual catchphrase!” Wade chirps. “Very nice! Very on trend!”

Several meters behind you, the X-Jet lands on an open patch of concrete. The ramp to the main bay lowers, and Jean flies out followed by Bobby, Scott, Ororo, and Kitty –who’s clad in her trainee crop top, no less.

“It’s over, Magneto!” Scott says, pointing at him with an air of –arrogant—authority. “Whatever you’re planning won’t come to fruition.”

“See, now that’s just forced,” Wade says as he watches Scott, shaking his head. “So tripe-y. Yawn.”

“I am surprised you would declare this event over,” Magneto declares evenly as he stands up and dusts himself off. “Considering you nothing of what I am planning –to say nothing of the fact that I have not even started yet.”

“Give it up, Erik,” Jean says, glaring him down. “You’re outmatched and you have nowhere to run to.”

Magneto’s –Erik’s—lips curl into a cruel smirk. “On the contrary. You have given me everything I need to succeed.” He lifts his hand—

And Nate drops to his knees with a scream of pain.

Wade’s by his side in an instant, holding him. “Nate!  _No_!”

Your stomach churns with horror as Nate’s screams echo off the concrete around you. They’re tortured, like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

Your vision goes red when you see a little streak of metal worm its way up Nathan’s neck.  _He’s activating the virus. He’s_ —

You whirl on Magneto. You can see his lips moving, no doubt saying something about trading Nate’s life for the escape of Magento and his team, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t care.

To your credit –or perhaps the credit of Magneto’s sense of self-preservation—he pales when you launch yourself at him. He lifts a twisted, thick steel beam with his other hand and launches it at you.

You let out an enraged scream and bat it away with an air current.

The beam punches through the side of a warehouse wall and clatters across the floor inside, out of view.

Magneto and his men look at the hole in the warehouse, then look at you –then tuck tail and run.

 _No_.

You throw yourself after them, teeth clenched together as you keep your eye trained on Magneto’s dark red getup.  _You’re going down. I will dig your grave myself_.

It’s not hard to catch up with him. Despite his ability to fly –and his energy and strength, which completely belies his age—you’re just plain old faster than him. It takes nothing to get in front of him, cutting off his escape from the abandoned docks.

He grits his teeth, then starts launching various discard scraps of rusted metal at you.

You cast a ball of whirling air around you, letting the random chunks of metal and hunks of rebar bounce away from you and across the concrete. Shield in place, you hurtle towards him again. “No one! Gave you! The right! To hurt others!”

“And no one had the right to hurt me, the rest of mutantkind!” he shouts back as he tries to press a steel beam through your air shield. “I will do whatever I have to make sure we are never hurt again!”

You send the bar flying with a flick of your wrist before you bear down on him once more.  _This fucking asshole_ —

 _No killing, Y/N._  Jean’s voice echoes in your mind.  _We don’t kill_.

 _Oh_ , you think back.  _I’m not gonna kill him. But he’s definitely gonna feel this for a few weeks_.

 _By all means_.

It takes a couple minutes to get Magneto where you want him, but you manage to corner him between the warehouse wall and you.

He sneers at you. “You’re all blind. You won’t take the shot.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fury boiling in your chest.

And then you unleash the mother of all sonic screams at him.

Magneto goes flying through the warehouse wall –which collapses before he hits it, which means you haven’t just turned him into gelatin—and out the hole you made with the steel beam earlier. He bounces across the pavement and rolls to a stop with a pained groan.

Before he can move, you snap a mutation repression cuff around his wrist. When he glares at you, you grab him by his cape and start dragging him towards the X-Jet. “You’re coming with us. Asshole.”

As fortune would have it, the rest of your team’s already captured the few henchmen Magneto had been working with. Kitty’s rambling excitedly about the fact that she managed to corner and take down one of the men  _all by herself_ , Jean and Ororo are listening and praising her—

And Wade and Nate are sitting off to the side.

You shove Magneto into one of the holding cells, then walk over to where your brother and dad are resting. You kneel in front of Nathan and give him a fraught once over. “How are you feeling?”

“Been worse,” he spits out through gritted teeth. He shoots a venomous glare in Magento’s direction. “Been a lot better, too.”

You squeeze his hands sympathetically. “Don’t worry. He got his. I made sure of it.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Nate smirks. “Not bad work, kid.”

“Alright,” Jean announces as Scott puts the last henchman in a holding cell. “That’s everyone. Let’s head back to the mansion.”

 

* * *

 

 

As per protocol, everyone heads to the medical wing for a basic evaluation and check up as soon as the jet touches down in the hangar.

Melissa, a purple-skinned healer that came to Xavier’s around the same time you did, smiles at you as you walk into your designated room. “Hey, Y/N. How’d everything go?”

“Magneto accelerated some of Nathan’s virus,” you say bitterly.

“I heard about that. Hopefully we’ll be able to help with some of the pain, if nothing else.” She starts checking your pupillary reaction with a penlight. “How’d it feel getting out in the field again?”

“Really good, actually. No incidents to report.”

“That’s great.”

There’s the tell-tale sound of heavy, metallic footsteps in the hall, and then Piotr’s standing in the doorway.

You don’t miss the nervous expression on his face and favor him with a soft smile. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi, Colossus,” Melissa echoes before addressing you once more. “Your pupillary response looks fine. We’ll do a quick set of X-rays, just to make sure everything’s good, and if that clears you’ll be good to go. Colossus, sorry, I’ll either need you to step out or armor down…”

“Up to you,” you say quietly when Piotr looks to you for instruction.

He armors down and steps just inside of the room, as out of the way he can be, given his size.

The X-rays go quickly, and –sure enough—all things are good.

“Alright, you’re all set,” Melissa says as she updates your medical records for the Institute’s database. She seems to notice the tension in both yours and Piotr’s shoulders –finally. “I’ll give you two the room so you can catch up.”

Your phone chirps as she walks out. You unlock it and check a text –from Charles, apparently.

 ** _The Prof_** _: Will require your assistance with Magneto_.

Your phone chirps again as another text pops up on the screen.

 ** _The Prof_** _: Whenever you are ready_.

Technically, you’re ready right now.

Not technically, you have a boyfriend you need to attend to first.

 _Magneto can wait_ , you decide as you pocket your phone. You look over at Piotr, who’s very occupied with looking at his shoes. “Hey.”

He looks up at you, guilt easy to read on his face. “ _Privet_.” He swallows visibly. “I am… relieved you are well.”

“That makes two of us.” You pause for a moment, giving him an opportunity to speak. When he doesn’t, you sigh.  _Alright. Time to handle the elephant in the room._  “You’ve been sidelining me from missions.”

He winces at the accusation. “ _Myshka_ , I—”

“No, that’s what you’ve been doing and you know it,” you say in a calm, level voice.

You’re not used to being this calm when dealing with confrontation. Normally, you’re used to exploding and raging until it all passes.

Maybe it’s that you know and trust Piotr, maybe it’s all the therapy you’ve been doing –it’s probably both, actually—but for now you’re just content to role with it.

You cross your arms over your chest. “You’ve been trying to keep me away from missions. And, since I know you, I’d hazard a guess that it’s because you’re scared of losing after the Hell’s Kitchen fiasco. Correct?”

He nods, looking down at his shoes again. “ _Da_. You are right.”

“And you never thought to talk to me about your feelings? About any of it?”

His face creases with hurt. “I thought you would not listen.”

“And how would you know, since you didn’t try?” You walk over to him when he grimaces and turns his head away from you. “Piotr, I’ll cop to being the most stubborn pain in the ass at the mansion when Wade’s not around, okay? But I care about you, and I care about how you feel. If you don’t even give me the chance to listen to you, how am I supposed to know what you want, much less figure out if there’s a way to give it to you?”

He meets your gaze again, eyes shining with tears. “I almost lost you. I… I cannot go through that again. I love you, I want to be with you—”

“I love you, too,” you say when he cuts himself off, too overcome with emotion to speak. “More than anything, Piotr. But if you’re willing to manipulate me on stuff like this, who’s to say that you won’t once we’re married? Or have kids? We can’t be a team if you don’t communicate, Piotr, and it’s not fair to me to have you micromanage me, to have you  _not_  talk to me.” You purse your lips, then press on to finish your thought. “I can’t play second fiddle to your fear, Piotr. You have to pick one or the other.”

His eyes widen. “What—”

“I love you, Piotr. So damn much.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “But… but if you’re gonna choose to manipulate me instead of communicate with me, then… then I can’t be with you. We can’t be together if that’s what you’re gonna choose. And don’t—” You hold up a hand when he opens his mouth to reply “—don’t say anything about ‘you’ll always choose me’ right now. I know you, and I know you love me, and I trust that you  _want_  to choose me, but I want you to  _think_  about this. I want you to  _think_  about whether or not you can even accomplish it, and if you can how you’re going to do it. Okay?”

He closes his mouth, swallows hard, then nods. “ _Da._   _Khorosho_. Okay. I… I will do that.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest as a tear slips down his cheek; you reach up to brush it away with your thumb. “I love you, Piotr. I love you so much.”

He wraps his arms around you and presses his forehead against yours. “I love you also, Y/N. You are… you are everything to me.  _Moye serdtse. Moye solntse. Moya dusha_.”

You press your lips against his, and your heart cracks open at how  _passionately_  and  _tenderly_  and  _desperately_  he kisses you, and when you pull back you’re kinda sorta definitely crying, too.

“I love you,” he whispers as he cradles your face in his hands.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him one last time, then step back. “I have to go. Charles needs my help with Magneto.”

He nods, expression strained but understanding. “ _Da_. Go. We will… we will talk later.”

You nod. “Yeah.” You kiss him one last time –you can’t help yourself, you love him—and then walk out of the examination room and down the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

The tension in Xavier’s office is palpable. Charles is seated behind his desk, engaged in a stare-down with a peeved looking Magneto –who’s changed into a button down shirt, a suit jacket, and slacks, somehow; the repression cuff still blinks on his wrist, a reminder that he’s powerless until someone decides that he shouldn’t be.

Wade and Nate are seated by one of the windows, watching Magneto with the precision and barely repressed aggression usually reserved for apex predators. Wade’s actually got his sword out, twirling it idly as he stares down one of the most powerful mutants known to history.

It’s a bit of a head trip, to say the least.

“I was summoned,” you say by way of greeting as you close the door behind you.

“Y/N.” The Professor shoots you a strained smile. “We seem to be at a bit of a stalemate. I was hoping you would be able to smooth things out—”

“You were  _hoping_  the young woman I consider as a daughter would be able to placate me into taking your side,” Nathan snaps. “Which is  _not_  gonna happen.”

“What sides are we even looking at?” you ask, feeling very much like a child being yanked into a messy pre-divorce argument. “What did I just walk into?”

“Knockoff psychic Seth Everman here—” Wade points his katana at Xavier “—wants to let Captain Magnet Kink here go.  _With a fucking warning_.”

You –barely—manage to keep your face neutral as you look over at Charles. “Reason being?”

“I spent the first few years of my life in a Nazi prison camp,” Magneto spits out. “I am not going back into another one with a different label.”

 _Okay_ , you think as you try –and fail—to produce a counterargument to that statement.  _Guilt trip, trump card combo. Nice_. “Wow. Alright. Uh. Not sure where to go from there.” You frown. “Okay, Professor –why did you even bring me in here? Like, you know Nate’s stance, you would’ve known that my being here wouldn’t change that, so why am I here?”

Charles steeples his fingers. “I was hoping in the event that Mr. Summers and Mr. Wilson would not… acquiesce to Erik’s release… you might be able to persuade Erik to… see our view of things. A guarantee of better behavior in the future, if you will.”

Magneto –Erik—rolls his eyes. “I have already made my stance clear, Charles. I will  _never_  side with inaction. The only way mutants will be safe is if we fight back and fight back  _now_.”

“We are not about inaction,” Charles retorts. “We are about  _education_. Which we cannot do effectively if you and your group of criminals are constantly causing chaos and striking fear into the hearts of non-mutants.”

“They should be afraid!” Erik snaps. “Non-mutants have held us under their boots for as long as the world remembers. They should be afraid, and they should flee like the bigoted cowards they are!”

“And what about the mutants that disagree with how you do things?” you interject before the two men can gain too much momentum with their argument. “What about those that stand up to you because some of your methods are violent, or dangerous? What then?”

“If they get in my way, they get what is coming to them.”

“How can you call yourself a champion for mutantkind if you’re willing to hurt mutants that get in your way?” you ask. “You can’t just walk all over people who disagree with you; there’s going to be people who don’t believe in your methods. That’s life. Deal with it.”

Erik narrows his eyes at you and draws himself up to his full height –which, for a man that’s pushing ‘definitely not spry anymore’ is impressively tall. “Those who refuse to act, or stand in the way of those that do, are complicit in the violence of our oppressors. Not doing anything is  _not_  an option!”

“We’re not doing ‘nothing,’” you fire back.

“Is that what you think?” he seethes. “You practice nonviolence against those who would have us  _killed_. The last time I watched that happen, my people were gassed in extermination camps. I will  _not_  sit by and do nothing. Not now, not ever again. Perhaps you do not understand—”

“I understand perfectly well!” you snap, indignation rising in your chest.

Erik sneers at you. “You really think you can understand persecution the way I do? I watched my mother get shot by Gestapo agents when she refused to board the trains to the camps. I was put in a work camp and left to  _die_.” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing a faded string of numbers tattooed on his forearm. “This, this is what persecution looks like. You could not possibly understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” you growl out. “I was raised by anti-mutant parents in an anti-mutant community. I was beaten with a belt on a daily basis because I couldn’t control my mutation. I was hunted by men with rifles and shotguns when I tried to run away! My parents tried to have a telepath remove my mutation, which nearly killed me! Just because my experiences aren’t identical to yours doesn’t mean I don’t understand pain and persecution! So, buddy, if you want someone to walk down shitty ol’ memory lane with you and compare wounds, I’m glad to do and I’ll match you step for step!” You let that hang for a moment, then take a deep breath and continue when Erik doesn’t say anything. “Or, we can have a  _productive_  conversation and work on finding some sort of compromise that works as much as it possibly can.”

Erik scowls at you. “I am not interested in working with the enemy.”

“We’re not the enemy!” you shout. “Just because we’ve picked a different path doesn’t make us the enemy! And it’s not like your way is the end all, be all! No,  _no_!” You glare at him when he opens his mouth to speak. “Look at him!” You point at Nate. “You were willing to run the risk of  _killing him_  just to get what you want. He’s a mutant; he’s  _your_  kind. If you’re willing to fuck over your own people to get your way, you’re the enemy we all need to be worried about. You cannot say you’re for mutants and then be selective based on our beliefs. Your pain and past experiences does not, will not, will never give you the right to do that!  _Never_!”

Erik glances over at Nate then looks away, looking somewhat chastened.

“Look, Erik, I’m sorry for what you went through as a kid,” you say, gentler. “It’s fucked up and should have never happened to you. But if you want to make sure that never happens to mutants –to anyone—ever again, you can’t keep fighting us along the way. We’re the two different sides of the same coin. We need each other.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “What… do you have in mind?”

You keep your face neutral, even as you’re stunned by the monumental breakthrough you just managed to set up. You take a deep breath and move on to the next part of your rant-speech-thing. “We need people like Charles –like the Institute—to take care of the ‘non-war’ stuff. Education, specialized training, housing for mutants kicked out of their homes. That kind of stuff requires special licensing which, given how many statutes and legal conventions you’ve broken, isn’t going to be possible for you to pull off. Some of us have to stay within the laws to take care of the kids and teens that can’t defend themselves. It’s how it has to be.”

“Agreed,” Erik says slowly. “I am surprised you are not advocating for ‘setting the model example.’”

“The decent people of the world? They’ll believe that,” you say. “They do exist. They’ll see us and support us. But there are a  _lot_  of non-decent people in this world. Places like Harmony, where I grew up. Traffickers. Government agencies that would exploit us for our abilities. That’s where we need people like you.”

“The X-Men do not practice or condone violence,” Charles interjects.

“And you’re a hypocrite on that,” you fire back.  _You hired my uncle as your hitman_ , you think at him.  _Don’t you dare try to paint yourself as a saint_. “And you refuse to acknowledge that there are people who will  _never_  be swayed by what we’re doing. The people who’ve already decided they have the right to hurt us based on what makes us different are never going to care about what laws we get passed in our favor or what sort of example we set. And for them, we need people like Erik—”  _and my uncle_  “—to remind that when they try to hit us, we’ll hit back. The only thing that will stop them is knowing that  _we won’t be walked over_.”

Erik smirks when Charles doesn’t argue back. “You seem… very willing to trust someone who has hurt your friends before.”

You smirk back at him. “Well, that’s because if you ever do anything like that again, no one is going to find what’s left of your body. I promise you that.”

He arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t seem too perturbed. “You would say that to a Holocaust survivor.”

 _Don’t let him see you flinch_ , you think to yourself.

Because what this really comes down to is if you’re willing to kill to protect the people you love.

And you are.

“You’re damn right I will,” you say, voice low and lethal. You stare up at him, unblinking while he scrutinizes you.

The corner of his mouth turns up after a moment. “You, Ms. L/N, are going places –and I cannot wait to see what those places are.” He looks over at Charles. “I only work with her. None of your other pacifistic followers, just her.”

You blink.  _Wait, what?_

“Y/N is technically still a trainee,” Charles says, seemingly just as shocked as you are. “She is not—”

“Well, then, you better fast-track her for full status,” Erik retorts. “Because I work with her or no one else.”

Charles nods after a moment. “Very well. If that’s what gets you to cooperate.”

“ _Wonderful_. Now that we straightened that out—” He holds up his arm, where the repression cuff is still latched around his wrist. “ _Get this damn thing off me_.”

Charles sighs and wheels out from the behind the desk. “Yes. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to someone who can do that for you.”

You wait until the two older men exit Xavier’s office, then look over at Nate and Wade. “Are you guys alright?”

Nathan shrugs. “Sure.”

You wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you guys out of it or—”

The corner of Nathan’s mouth turns up in a smile and he shakes his head. “Xavier threw you off a deep end. You priority was to make sure you could swim, not check and see if everyone else was swimming, too.”

You dart over and wrap your arms around him in a hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. Hurt more than anything.” He places a fatherly kiss on the top of your head. “You did good, kid.”

“She did better than good,” Wade comments. “She handed Magneto his balls.”

You look over at your honorary brother. “Are you alright?”

Wade nods. “Nate’s right. Xavier threw you the motherfucker of all curve balls. You did good. Besides, I trust your judgement.”

The praise makes you teary, and you manage to eek out a “thank you” as you let go of Nate. “Alright, I need to go wrap things up. You two just… make out on Xavier’s couch, or something.”

“Ooh,” Wade says as you walk out of the Professor’s office. “There’s an idea!”

 

* * *

 

 

You call your uncle as soon as you find a quiet enough spot and update him on everything that’s happened.

He congratulates you on doing the conflict resolution version of defusing a nuclear missile –“Yeah, Chuck’s kinda shitty about tossing people off a cliff sometimes.”—and gives you the go ahead to give Erik his number so that he can coordinate with your uncle on various missions –“Hey, as long as I can beat the shit out of him if he tries to jack me over, I’m good.”

You wind up escorting Erik –and his henchman—out to a waiting car on the front drive. You hand him a card with your uncle’s number written on it. “Someone will be contacting you through this number in the next forty-eight hours about how your partnership with the X-Men will proceed.”

He smirks. “So, you were not bluffing when you called Charles a ‘hypocrite.’ Interesting.”

“I don’t take shots I can’t make.”

He studies you for a moment, then smiles and shakes his head. “You are indeed going places, Ms. L/N. A shame you decided to limit your destinations by tethering yourself to the Institute.”

“Good for me that my opinion’s the only one that counts on that,” you fire back. “I think I’m doing fine.”

He smirks, then heads towards the car. “I will be seeing you, Ms. L/N.”

“I bet,” you mutter under your breath. You watch the car drive off, then jog back inside the house.

You’ve got a boyfriend to talk to.

 

* * *

 

 

You find Piotr in your shared room, sitting on the bed.

He’s armored down and dressed in casual clothes, staring ahead at the wall opposite the bed. His eyes look puffy, his nose is red, and there’s a pile of used tissues sitting next to him on the bed.

You shuck your flight jacket off –you haven’t had a chance to change out of your mission garb—and run over to the bed.

Piotr yanks you to him, pulling you to his chest in a borderline crushing hug.

You’re holding him just as tight.

“The Professor updated me on everything,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “He says… you got Magneto to cooperate?”

“I think I just spewed a lot of bullshit that happened to make sense,” you say, a little shaky now that you’re out of all of it and coming down from a shitwhack of adrenaline. “I’m just surprised I didn’t write a check my proverbial dick couldn’t cash.”

He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “You are gifted,  _myshka_. Do not sell yourself short.” His face puckers with grief, and he drops his gaze to where his hands are holding yours. “And... I am  _so_  sorry for… manipulating you. I –I did not want to, I was not trying to, I just could not bear thoughts of  _losing you again_ —”

You press your forehead again. “Babe, I know, okay? I know that keeping everything organized and controlled is how you cope with stress, alright? I know what I’m walking into with you; it was never the fact that you were controlling, it was that you wouldn’t  _talk to me_. That you wouldn’t try to manage your stress in a way that was healthy for  _both of us_.”

He nods. “ _Da_. I understand. And I did think, as you asked me.” He swallows hard and swipes at his damp cheeks with the back of his hand. “I think, for this specific instance, I never fully processed everything. I went from incident to taking care of you to my family to teaching. I never had a chance to address my fear or my grief. So, for this, I think some counselling would help me with that.”

“I think that sounds good,” you agree, encouraging. “And it makes sense.”

“As for possible future incidents…” He shoots you a nervous look before continuing. “I… confess I could not think of much. I can work with therapist for ideas, but on my own—”

You shush him gently when the pitch of his voice starts rising –it’s the closest to panicky you’ve ever seen him. “I’m not asking you to have all the details worked out. I wasn’t expecting you to have the details worked out. The fact that you’re committed to figuring out what tools you need to cope and how to get them is good enough for me.”

His shoulders sag visibly with relief. “ _Khorsho._ ” He wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Thank you.”

You kiss his collarbone, then his jaw. “I love you, Piotr. You’re my whole damn world. You know that, right?”

He nods, pressing his lips against your forehead. “And you are my world.” He exhales shakily, then lets you go to toss the pile of used Kleenexes in the trash. “I should take care of these.”

“Did you really cry that much?” You ask, heart tearing into for your giant marshmallow of a boyfriend. “Babe…”

“I was worried,” he admits. “That this would be the end of us.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t think it would come to that. I knew that you’d be able to give me a good answer. And I didn’t want to scare you –didn’t say any of it to scare you—but this is serious to me, and I had to convey that it was serious—”

“It  _is_  serious,” he agrees as he traces over your ring finger with his thumb. “It is good to take seriously. So… we are good?”

You smile fondly at him. “We’re good.”

He leans in and presses his lips against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses you gently –and then not gently at all. He pulls you into his arms, kisses you like a drowning man tasting air for the first time, clutches at your body like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

You’re clinging to him as well, tugging at his hair and rocking your hips against his. It’s like a fire coursing through you; you don’t care if you burn.

He mouths at your neck, presses wet, open-mouthed kisses at the spot where your skin gives way to the collar of your shirt. “I need you.” His voice breaks when he speaks, making him sound all the more crazed.

You lean back to shuck your shirt off and toss it somewhere behind you, press a gasping kiss to his lips. “I need you, too.” You cling to his shoulders as he rolls so you’re pressed between the bed and him.

The future’s uncertain. You don’t care about the future.

You’ve got Piotr, here and now. That’s all you need.

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER QUICK NOTE ON THE RELATIONSHIP STUFF:
> 
> I did take the Reader's reaction to Piotr's need to control/micromanage from my relationship with my boyfriend (like, not exactly, but you get what I mean). Partners are going to have flaws, and it's important to evaluate whether or not you're willing to live with those flaws day in, day out.
> 
> It's also important to suss out your partners intentions when their flaws come to the surface. The reason the Reader is okay with Piotr having tried to manipulate them is because: A.) it wasn't done maliciously/it was just a fear reaction, B.) he wasn't cutting them down or gaslighting them, C.) he had valid points to present to them along the way, and D.) he was willing to own his flaws and set goals to work on communicating his needs/emotions better to avoid incidents like what happened in the fic in the future.
> 
> Basically, if someone ever does this to you and isn't pulling an exact Piotr, get the fuck out. Manipulation is no joke; do not assume your partner won't do it again if they say so without all the above caveats in place.
> 
> (And, obviously, if you just don't want to deal even if the caveats are in place, bail. It's your choice. You do you, boo.)
> 
> Alright, relationship convo over.
> 
> I love you all so much and I hope finals are treating you well (if you're in the middle of that; we are in the US).
> 
> Much love,
> 
> The Author


End file.
